


Faux Pas

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama, Explicit Language, Post War, Post-War, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Eternity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-12
Updated: 2009-05-12
Packaged: 2018-10-27 16:06:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10812348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Faux Pas, noun~ a slip or blunder in etiquette, manners, or conduct; an embarrassing social blunder or indiscretion.





	Faux Pas

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes:

This was originally written for queenb23 - she asked for a drabble and it got out of hand turning into a sizeable One Shot!

Thanks to everyone who lent a few eyes to spot mistakes :) 

* * *

“Parkinson!” Ron Weasley called out from behind his desk.  
  
“Yes, Mr. Weasley?” Pansy Parkinson’s head appeared at the door.  
  
“Don’t forget I need that report by tonight for the meeting on Monday morning. The meeting’s at-”  
  
“7 am sharp, yes, yes, I know.” Her head disappeared and he was left to stare at the empty doorway again.  
  
“And Parkinson?”  
  
“Yes?” This time, she stood in the door, one hand on her hip.  
  
“That’s all.” Ron smirked at her annoyed huff.  
  
What a great turn of events. Pansy Parkinson used to be an annoying bitch back at school. Next to Draco Malfoy, she was definitely on his hit list of people he couldn’t stand. To say they hated each other back then was an understatement. She never missed an opportunity to remark how much more she was worth, how much more status she had. But, Ron supposed, what goes around comes around.  
  
Karma and all that. Because for the last month he had the pleasure to order her about.  
  
Gone was the haughtiness of her teenage self; it had been replaced by bitterness. The girl had turned into a woman who obviously found it very hard to accept that her place wasn’t at the top but somewhere in the middle, like most of the population.  
  
Ron knew from speaking to his colleagues that his new personal assistant hated his guts. He laughed it off, though. He’d like to say that went both ways, but he found he didn’t actually hate her. Hate was too strong an emotion for someone he couldn’t care less about.  
  
This didn’t mean he didn’t immensely enjoy ordering her about. Sometimes with pointless busy work, just to annoy her. Today, he found, he was bored. It was one of those days that were strategically kept quiet and stayed unmentioned in the Auror leaflets one would receive if interested in the profession.  
  
Reports.  
  
Ron hated writing reports. He always had and always will. He wished he had Hermione to do the work for him, to help him or to even let him copy them. Alas, they weren’t fourteen anymore and besides that, Hermione worked in a different department and most certainly wouldn’t approve. He smiled at the thought of Hermione’s reaction if he dared ask. She’d definitely be annoyed and quite possibly would draw up a report schedule, much like she had done with their homework planners back at Hogwarts.  
  
Ron shook his head clear of one of his best friends and glanced at his watch. He sighed. The pile on his desk just didn’t seem to shrink and the day still had too many hours in it. A bloody Friday, to boot. By all rights, he should be off early like most Ministry employees and have a date. Failing that, at least a few beers with the guys.  
  
Maybe that was his problem, he mused. No dates. It had been well over two months since he had been on a date. And that hadn’t ended quite as he had hoped. He had become far too well acquainted with his right hand lately.  
  
He tried his best to get as many reports done as possible, thanking Merlin and whatever deity cared to listen that his boss was his other best friend. It did have its perks. By 5pm, he decided to call it a day and shoved the rest of his papers into an untidy pile on his desk.  
  
He pulled his cloak around his shoulders and stepped out of his office. And stopped in his tracks. Right in front of him, a pair of long legs showed through a long slit in a black skirt. Attached to those long legs was a shapely, firm looking bum. A woman was bent down low, picking up some parchment. Damn it all, but if that wasn’t a sight taken straight from one of his fantasies, his name wasn’t Ron Weasley.  
  
“Always ordering me about like a child. Bloody high horse he’s on!” the woman grumbled, straightening up and turning around to face him.  
  
“Parkinson!” Ron gasped out, shocked to find he had thoroughly enjoyed staring at her.  
  
“Mr Weasley! Your report is ready. I have an occasion to attend.” She spoke fast and smoothed down her blood red blouse. “I was just going to come and ask if I could leave a bit early today.”  
  
Ron could tell from her tone of voice that it left a bitter taste in her mouth that she had to ask him for permission. He ignored her clipped tone and instead took his time to look at her. She certainly had tried to make an effort. As sick as it made him to admit it, even if only to himself, she looked good.  
  
“Got a date?” he asked coolly, trying his best to ignore his increased pulse rate.  
  
“I wasn’t aware that it was any of your business, Mr Weasley. My private life is private, after all,” she snapped and looked him dead in the eye, challenging him.  
  
“It is my business when it’s on my time. And you don’t finish work for another hour. So I suggest you adjust your attitude, Parkinson.”  
  
She didn’t respond straight away. He could see her tense up when she clenched her jaw, obviously fighting to keep her cool. He found it oddly endearing, which worried him.  
  
“I’m sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry in the slightest.  
  
“So, who’s your date?”  
  
“There is no date,” Pansy ground out. “It’s my birthday. My friends and I are going out for a meal. Happy now?”  
  
 _Yes_. Ron wasn’t sure where that thought had come from. He had been fully prepared to take the piss out of her date. “Well, happy birthday. Suppose I could let you leave early. Since you’d be out the door not five minutes after me, anyway. And don’t try to deny it either.”  
  
She didn’t. Instead, she muttered a clipped, “Thank you.”  
  
Ron strode out of his and towards Harry Potter’s office. He thought he heard Pansy swear behind him and was quite sure it was directed at him. He smiled, knowing he got under her skin yet again.  
  
He definitely needed a drink and Harry rarely declined. When he reached his best mate’s office, the door was closed. He knocked.  
  
“Come in, Ron.”  
  
Ron opened the door with a grin. “How’d you know it was me?”  
  
Harry grinned back. “Who else would come to me on a Friday late afternoon? They’re all too afraid I’d give them last minute tasks. What’s up?”  
  
“I need a drink. Been a long week. Coming with me?”  
  
“Yeah, sure. I could need one, too. Ginny’s not home this weekend.”  
  
“You’re whipped, Potter.”  
  
“I know,” Harry replied dreamily. “And I love it.”  
  
Ron shook his head, but smiled. He waited while Harry finished off a memo and then both left the Ministry together. A few minutes later, they found themselves inside the Leaky Cauldron.  
  
“Evening, boys. The usual?” Hannah Abbott asked after she came over to their table, sitting down on one of the chairs.  
  
“Yes, please, Hannah. How’re you doing?” Harry replied, nodding towards her bump.  
  
Hannah waived her wand and a bottle of Ogden’s finest alongside two glasses appeared in front of them. “I’m doing good. Baby’s kicking me like mad today. It’s tiring to be on my feet, but if I want it done right… you know how it goes.”  
  
“Your help not doing it right?” Ron asked.  
  
“Not the way I’d do it. I don’t know how the pub will survive when the baby’s finally here.” She shook her head. “Better get going before Sam explodes something else.” Hannah got up slowly, hindered by her large belly. There were only a few weeks left until her due date but she showed no signs of slowing down. And almost on cue, a loud bang sounded from the bar, followed by a string of curse words from her help, Sam.  
  
“Here we go again,” Hannah muttered on her way over. “Sam!” she called, “Get away from there and get the dirty glasses from the tables. And don’t drop them this time!”  
  
Ron and Harry shared an amused glance. The former Hufflepuff student could be a scary sight. She certainly wasn’t the pushover most of her housemates were stereotyped as.  
  
“So Ginny still at camp, yeah? I thought she was back tomorrow?”  
  
“Nah, Jones is keeping them there. She caught the team out drinking the other day. Now she’s making them pay for being ‘out of line’.”  
  
“Wow, they were drinking? During season?” Ron was shocked. Professional players usually didn’t let themselves go, especially not at the end of the season where finals were imminent – and the Harpies were in the run for the title.  
  
“Yeah, apparently Cordelia turned 30 and they had a small outing which got out of hand. According to Ginny, it wasn’t supposed to be like that.” Harry smirked. “But I bet she was right in the middle of it. Always the life of the party.”  
  
“True.” Ron forgot what else he wanted to say. The door opening distracted him when he realised that a group of women had entered.  
  
“Isn’t that Parkinson?” Harry asked.  
  
“Yeah. Her birthday today.” Ron took a long swig of his whiskey.  
  
“How’s she working out? She giving you much trouble?”  
  
“Hm? Nah. She’s doing a good job, actually. Didn’t think she would, but she’s actually useful.” Ron scowled. “Who’d have thought.”  
  
Harry laughed. “Not me, mate, not me. Remember when she was Malfoy’s little pet back at school?” He shuddered visibly.  
  
Ron made a disgusted sound. “That bastard. Don’t mention him outside work. Got enough crap to deal with his shite during working hours. We received another anonymous tip off about illegal dealings concerning him.”  
  
“Yeah, I saw the report.” Harry sighed heavily. “I know I shouldn’t say this, but sometimes I wish people would leave Malfoy alone.”  
  
Ron’s head snapped up. “Pardon me?”  
  
“Well, in the last three years, we received one tip off after the other. Malfoy cooperated openly with every single investigation. Nothing was proven true. He’s kept his nose clean. People who falsely accuse him waste our time, money and resources. As much as it pains me to admit, I think Malfoy finally got the message.”  
  
“Would be a great day to put him behind bars. Did you forget what he did to us, to you?”  
  
“Of course not! How could I have? I just can’t make something up to arrest him and what he did back then isn’t enough to prosecute him. Plus, he still owes us his life. A few times over. Doubt he’d be stupid enough to mess with us. He knows he has life debts.”  
  
Ron snorted. Harry simply refilled their glasses. “So how come you know it’s Parkinson’s birthday?”  
  
“She asked to leave early because of it.” He shrugged. “I felt generous today so I let her.”  
  
“You’re going soft on her,” Harry teased in a sing-song voice.  
  
“She’d have left early anyway. Soon as I’d be gone so would she.” He shrugged again. “Don’t really care.”  
  
Harry raised an eyebrow. “For someone who doesn’t care, you keep a close eye on her.”  
  
“She is my PA. I have to know where she is and if she’s doing her job.”  
  
“Mh hm. Sure that’s the only reason you’re _still_ staring at her over at the bar?”  
  
Ron pulled his eyes off her. _Damnit_. He hadn’t even realised he was staring at her. He didn’t like Harry’s smirk either. He was about to tell him to stuff it, when Harry spoke again.  
  
“She grew up, hasn’t she? Don’t blame you for noticing her.”  
  
Ron choked on the swig of whiskey he was taking. When he finished coughing, he ground out, “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Harry’s laughter did nothing but make him annoyed at his best mate. “Are you nearly done?” he asked with little humour.  
  
Harry nodded and launched into an in-depth discussion about the upcoming Quidditch season finals instead. Three teams were neck-on-neck, still fighting for the title. The Harpies were one, and naturally Harry had to support Ginny’s team.  
  
Incredibly, the Cannons were another, which made Ron worry – he had always supported them but if his little sister got wind of him not cheering for her, he’d have to face her wrath. So, Ron hoped that Puddlemere United would kick the Harpies out of the running. Not that he’d ever tell Ginny that. Or Harry, for that matter, because his best mate appeared to have lost the ability to keep secrets when it came to his wife.  
  
During the course of their bottle of Ogden’s Seamus Finnegan had stopped by to say hello on his way to a date. Neville Longbottom had stopped for a little while before insisting that Hannah take it easy and making sure she’d let Sam take over for the rest of the night. Even Luna and her new boyfriend Rolf Scamander had stopped for a quick chat, saying they’re in town for the weekend and that they’d be rushing back to Sweden on Monday.  
  
All in all, it had been a great evening, drinking and chatting with friends.  
  
“I better get home. I’m wrecked,” Harry exclaimed after a long yawn.  
  
“You’re getting old, mate. It’s only…,” Ron peered at his watch, “ten o’clock! Where’s your stamina, Harry?” He good-naturedly punched Harry on the arm.  
  
“Lost it somewhere I’m sure. If you see it, tell it to find me at home?” Harry stood, quickly holding on to the back of his chair. “Think I’d better walk home,” he mumbled to himself.  
  
Ron laughed. “Yeah, you better. Wouldn’t want our top Auror splinched. Imagine the headlines!”  
  
“No thanks,” Harry chuckled. “I think Skeeter had enough headlines on me for a lifetime. Don’t need new ones about my private life. Bad enough I get to be in the Prophet for work crap.”  
  
Ron raised his almost empty glass in salute and downed the rest. Harry tipped his head and gave a small wave before walking out of the pub into the warm night.  
  
Ron sighed. He didn’t want to go home yet but drinking alone wouldn’t do. So he left the table in favour of a stool right at the bar, hoping Sam would be entertaining him with a chat. One beer and half an hour later, however, he decided to call it a night.  
  
He walked out and decided to stay in the flat over the joke shop. George had long moved out of there and it was an unwritten agreement that either of them could stay there if the need arose. And being too incapacitated to Apparate, Ron decided, was definitely such a need.  
  
Halfway down Diagon Alley, he saw few people standing outside the Wicked Witch nightclub. Seamus Finnegan was one of them, and when he had spotted Ron, he insisted he’d come in ‘just for one’. Ron relented and so his night of drinking continued, this time with renewed fun of having an old mate to chat to. His date, it had turned out, left after only an hour. Seamus shrugged it off, but Ron thought he looked genuinely disappointed.  
  
~ ** ~  
  
When Ron woke up the next morning, he felt like a herd of hippogriffs was trampling around his head. He threw an arm over his eyes to shield them from the sunshine coming through the small window. It was Saturday, he knew. He went out the night before, he knew. With Harry, then Seamus. And then his memory got fuzzy somewhere around his second drink he had with Seamus.  
  
He had been drinking. And dancing. He groaned aloud. Dancing. He hated dancing. Just how drunk was he? He tentatively took his arm off his eyes and let it fall to his right.  
  
He jumped up.  
  
Someone was beside him on the other side of the large bed. He certainly didn’t remember that! Rubbing his head and blinking, he tried to focus his eyes on the person in the bed.  
  
A woman with long black hair, facing away from him. A woman he did not recognise.  
  
 _Shite_.  
  
He seldom did the One-Night-Stand thing. He’d done it twice, to be exact. He preferred to date more seriously than to throw himself at anything on offer. The two times he did do it though, he prided himself in making sure to know what they both entered into and to bloody _know her name_. Not to mention where they met.  
  
He looked down at himself. Well, he wasn’t naked. At least he still had his boxers on. That must have meant something. He carefully got out of bed and grabbed his trousers on his way into the flat’s small kitchen. Then he began to make a coffee and search for some hangover potion. He prayed to all that was holy that George had left some.  
  
George.  
  
 _Merlin_ , Ron thought. _What if she’s with George and I passed out in bed next to her? Or worse, tried it on with her? He’ll kill me!_  
  
Glad he found one last vial of the much-needed potion, he downed it in one go and bent his head low. He closed his eyes and held on to the kitchen counter, waiting for it to take effect.  
  
He heard footsteps softly padding around the living room. After taking a deep breath, he slowly and quietly walked to the door. He had to apologise for… well, for something. Ron just wasn’t sure for what.  
  
When he got to the living room door, she had her back to him, busy buttoning a cardigan. Ron cleared his throat and she spun around. Both stared at each other with wide eyes. Ron crossed his arms over his bare chest, causing Pansy to look up suddenly.  
  
“Parkinson,” Ron muttered at length and then added, “What the hell are you doing here?”  
  
Her expression went from rabbit-caught-in-headlight to angry. “Well, _Mr Weasley_ , I thought that would be obvious. I am getting dressed.”  
  
“I can see that. I mean, what are _you_ ,” he pointed at her, “doing _here_.” Ron waved his hands around the flat. “How’d you get in? Why’d you sleep here?”  
  
Even as he said those words out loud he refused to acknowledge the answers to his questions, which were slowly forming in his own head. If he didn’t know any better, he could’ve sworn Parkinson’s face just fell and worse, that she was battling with tears. Crying women were not something he wanted to deal with.  
  
Not even if it was _her_.  
  
“Look, _Pansy_ , I’m sorry.” Ron rubbed the back of his head.  
  
“No, you’re not,” she spat at him. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? I should’ve known better than to expect to be treated like anything more than dirt come morning!”  
  
“Wha- How? Why? Damnit. Parkinson! Pansy…” Ron sighed. “What the hell happened last night?”  
  
“Excuse me?” Pansy dragged out her words, anger evident in her voice. Ron cringed as she echoed his words back at him, “ _What the hell happened last night?_ ”  
  
“Can you at least stop shouting? My head’s still sore.”  
  
“Oh that’s rich! Let me take care of that for you!” she shouted at him, whipping her wand out and pointing it at him. Ron immediately reached for his own wand, only to find he didn’t have it on him.  
  
“Put your wand down.” When she made no move to do so, he added, “Please.” She finally complied. “Thank you. Uh, you drink coffee?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Well, c’mon then.” He walked back into the small kitchen, wondering what to do now. If he weren’t so bewildered as to how on Earth he had ended up in this situation, he’d have laughed out loud at an old memory. He certainly did prove, once again, that he had the emotional range of a teaspoon. Otherwise, he’d have known just how this came to be.  
  
Ron pushed a mug of hot, steaming coffee into Pansy’s hands and then took his own, leaning back against the counter. Pansy took the mug and sat down.  
  
“So…” Ron offered, suddenly very conscious of his semi-naked state.  
  
“So?” She clearly wasn’t going to give him an inch.  
  
“What happened last night?”  
  
“Does it really matter? Clearly it isn’t that important or you’d remember.” Pansy looked down at her coffee and twirled her cup. Her face was flushed, though Ron wasn’t sure if it was due to anger or his less than adequate attire.  
  
“Clearly I was completely pissed. I don’t remember and I’d like to know.” Ron sighed. “Look, this isn’t something that I usually do.”  
  
“How do you know? You can’t remember what happened. Or what didn’t happen, for that matter.”  
  
Ron’s head snapped up. “So, you mean we didn’t…?”  
  
“No, we did not.”  
  
“Thank Merlin.” He resisted the urge to cringe. Even to his ears that had sounded a bit too cold. Especially when a part of him felt like celebrating to have her here. He told that part to shut the hell up.  
  
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she snapped, leaving Ron to snap back.  
  
“It _means_ that I’m glad we didn’t shag. I thought that much was obvious.”  
  
“You have quite a way to make a woman feel good about herself, you know that?” she muttered.  
  
His jaw dropped. “That’s not what I meant and you know that.”  
  
“Do I?” She raised an eyebrow, sitting up straight. “I don’t know you. And you quite obviously do not know me in the slightest.”  
  
“I take it you remember everything?” She nodded. “Care to enlighten me?”  
  
“What makes you think I’ll tell you the truth? You don’t trust me.”  
  
“I’ll have to trust you on this, won’t I?” He moved to sit down on a chair across from her. “Let’s be adults and forget our past  just for a few minutes. Honestly, I don’t understand how this happened.”  
  
“Well, maybe that’s for the best,” she replied. Quickly rubbing her face, she muttered, “However much I would enjoy you running blindly into work on Monday, I don’t much like the fact that the joke will most certainly be on me.”  
  
“What are you talking about?” If anything, Ron was more confused.  
  
“Last night, you were drinking with Finnegan in the Wicked Witch.”  
  
“Yeah, I remember that much.”  
  
“You were drunk. Finnegan left with some woman and you… you tried to chat me up.” Ron stared at her, ready to argue. “Don’t bother denying anything, you made quite a spectacle out of yourself, actually. Have to say, I quite enjoyed it. Up to a certain point, that is.”  
  
“Spectacle? You enjoyed it? What do you mean?” Ron’s gut feeling told him it wasn’t anything good at all. He had come to trust his gut feeling; it had saved his arse countless times during work. Right now, he hated it.  
  
“Well, you tried to dance with me, if that’s what it could be called. Then you tried to snog me and when I turned you down, you decided to pursue me anyway. That’s when it stopped being funny. You attracted quite a crowd, loud as you were when you shouted after me and I wasn’t comfortable with that. Merlin only knows who recognised me.”  
  
Ron couldn’t believe his ears. That wasn’t him, though he found it too easy to imagine snogging her. It scared him. He shook his head.  
  
“In the end, I took you outside, away from the crowds. You were too drunk to Apparate so you directed us here. Merlin only knows what possessed me to help you.” She buried her head in her hands. After a deep breath, she continued, “I couldn’t let you make a bigger fool of yourself. It wouldn’t reflect well on me at work.”  
  
She stopped, and Ron cleared his throat. “When we got here… you – you tried it on with me again.”  
  
“And you let me?” he asked hoarsely. She nodded, this time definitely a blush staining her cheeks.  
  
“But nothing happened. I mean, there was no… no sex.” Pansy didn’t meet his eyes when she finished. “I’d have stopped you anyway, but,” she paused and her face turned into a grimace. She started giggling then, out of nowhere, shocking Ron with the outburst. “You fell asleep. Mid-snog.” She laughed out loud then, sounding quite deranged to Ron’s ears. “You fell asleep. And I’m still here. Oh my god, what was I thinking?”  
  
Ron feared she might be on the verge of hysterics when her laughter didn’t die down. He wasn’t quite sure how to deal with her anymore. Sarcastic remarks seemed to be the worst he could do and he wasn’t used to being nice to her. Reluctantly, he extended an arm and patted her hand awkwardly.  
  
Pansy’s laughter stopped and she stared at her hand. Ron noticed that she didn’t look her usual haughty self. Her long black curls were quite fetching against her pale face. He never really noticed that her eyes were bright blue and unusually large. Back at school it would’ve been just one more thing to make fun of, but right now, her features seemed quite nice.  
  
“I can’t face my friends,” Pansy whispered, pulling her hand away. “What will they think of me now?”  
  
“Is that why you stayed?” Ron asked quietly, not sure he wanted the answer. She nodded.  
  
“I live with two of them. I couldn’t go home and face them last night. I worked so hard to… to… and now I stayed here and they’ll think we – oh god! They’ll think I’m… I’m sleeping my way to the top!” She buried her face in her hands again.  
  
Ron was quite put out by that gesture. Sure, he wasn’t proud of this situation and sure as day follows night he would have to face some ribbing, but he didn’t think he deserved _that_ reaction. He wasn’t that bad a catch.  
  
“Merlin, cut the drama. You’re not a whore! Still, you can’t stay here.” Ron cringed when the words escaped his mouth. He didn’t mean to sound so hostile. “I mean-”  
  
“I know what you mean.” His harsh sounding reply seemed to have pulled her out of her misery. “And I was about to go, if you recall correctly, when you stopped me earlier.” She sat up straighter as if to reclaim her dignity.  
  
“Do you want me to bring you home?”  
  
“Why would you do that?”  
  
“Because it’s the right thing to do? And maybe I can set the record straight with your friends.”  
  
Pansy laughed. “You don’t honestly think they’d believe you?”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“How did you not get killed as an Auror?” she sighted. “Ron, you’d walk into my flat the morning after you’d _very publicly_ tried it on with me?”  
  
“There’s no need for _that_.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“You look like you might be sick. I’m not that bad to be with.”  
  
Both stared at each other. Ron couldn’t believe he actually said it out loud, to Pansy Parkinson of all people. Her blush still remained on her cheeks, yet she looked fit to laugh at him again; he averted his gaze.  
  
“Well, you’re still here, aren’t you? You-” Ron looked up sharply. _“You_! You weren’t drunk. Least not as much as I was. You _willingly_ stayed. Didn’t you say I fell asleep mid-snog?” Ron’s voice became quieter the more he went on. It was as if he were speaking to himself. “You snogged me. Merlin’s baggy pants, you _wanted_ this.”  
  
Pansy abruptly got up from her chair and left the kitchen. It wasn’t until the flat’s front door closed that Ron regained his senses and jumped up, knocking his chair over in his haste. He was too late, however, when he got to the door, there was no trace of her.  
  
“Shite!” he shouted, kicking the door. How the fuck hadn’t he realised that earlier? If he didn’t feel so bloody stupid since he saw her face just before she rushed off, he’d have laughed it off as a joke. Pansy bloody Parkinson wanted him. It had to be a joke, didn’t it? Only, she didn’t look like she was joking. _And_ , a little voice in his head piped up, _seems you wanted her, too_.  
  
“Shite!”  
  
An hour later, he found himself at Harry’s place, waiting for his best mate to stop laughing. Ron found himself getting more irate by the minute.  
  
“If you’re quite finished,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “It’s not that funny.”  
  
“Yes, actually, it is,” Harry replied with very badly concealed mirth. With a wide grin, he added, “I knew you were going soft on her for a reason!”  
  
“Ha ha ha,” Ron said, dryly. “So, are you going to help me or not?”  
  
“You’re actually serious about this, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question, but Ron nodded his affirmation anyway. Harry shook his head, bemused. “Okay.”  
  
Ron knew that had it been anyone else, Harry would’ve closed his front door in their face. As it was, however, Harry agreed to help him. He waited impatiently while Harry flooed over to his office and couldn’t stop glancing at his clock as the minutes passed by.  
  
Ten minutes later, Harry reappeared, brushing some soot off his clothes and holding out a piece of parchment to Ron. Ron took it, thanked Harry and made to leave via Floo.  
  
“Ron, wait!” Harry called out. Ron turned to him. “What are you going say to her?”  
  
Ron wished he could remove the smirk from Harry’s face. He had known before he even came here that he would be taking the piss out of him for having spent the night in Pansy’s company – however unintentional – but it started to annoy him anyway.  
  
Instead of answering, he simply shrugged. He’d wing it, like he often did. Glancing at the piece of parchment in his hand, he flung some Floo powder into the fire and right before he firmly stated, “13 Morgana’s Way,” he thought he’d heard Harry shout,  
  
“ _In vino veritas_ , Ron! Don’t forget that!”  
  
Fireplace after fireplace went by him in a blur and as soon as he exited at his destination, he found himself at the business end of three wands. His swift reflexes and years of experience came to his aid. Within seconds he held the three wands in his free hand while lowering his own.  
  
“Give us back our wands,” a girl with brown curls snarled.  
  
“What, and have you hex me? Why would I do that?” Turning to Pansy he added, “Can we go somewhere more private?” He resisted the urge to cringe when he realised what it sounded like.  
  
“Haven’t you done enough to her already?” the brunette snapped. Ron ignored her and continued looking at Pansy with a level gaze.  
  
“Ron, give them back their wands,” Pansy said at length. “Belinda, Veronica, can you excuse us for a while?”  
  
“After all he did to you?” the blonde girl exclaimed in a disgusted tone. “We’re not leaving you alone with this… this… pervert!”  
  
“Veronica! I can handle this,” she urged her friend. She looked uneasy when she turned to him. “Ron, the wands.”  
  
Slowly, Ron returned the wands and diplomatically stored his away in his built-in wand pocket inside his robe’s sleeve. Pansy’s flatmates had gone over to her and were now whispering to her in urgent tones, but he couldn’t understand what they said. He didn’t need to understand to know it was about him and it wasn’t anything good.  
  
If looks could kill, Ron would have keeled over on the spot just before the two other girls had left. Now, alone with her, he didn’t know what to say. An awkward silence stretched between them.  
  
“Why are you here?” Pansy asked finally.  
  
“Beats me.” Ron scratched his head. “Suppose it’s the right thing to do, being here.”  
  
“And you always do what’s right? I don’t need your pity, and you don’t need to be here just to make yourself feel better. Leave.”  
  
“What did you tell them?”  
  
Pansy ignored him and instead moved to sit down on the couch, her arms and legs tightly crossed. Ron suppressed a sigh and went to sit on the opposite side of the couch.  
  
“Pansy, what did you tell them?” he asked again, more forcefully. “I don’t generally get called a pervert. What the hell did you tell them?”  
  
“What does it matter? Come Monday, we’ll both be in the office. You’ll get a pat on the back for getting it on with your secretary, even though they’ll tease you for the simple fact that it was me. And I’ll be the local harlot. And don’t you dare contradict me. I was never popular like you were, not at Hogwarts, not now. I know I was stupid back then, but people grow up. I grew up.” She stared straight ahead, unblinking.  
  
“I know what people assume about me. I’m not deaf, I can hear them gossip. So, please spare me your pity trip and just leave. I’m a big girl, I can deal with it.”  
  
“So, instead you’re just throwing your own pity party for yourself? You certainly sound as if you are,” Ron threw back at her. “I won’t leave, it’s not right. I don’t care what people think of me. And I’m not just here to make myself feel better.”  
  
 _Bullshit_ , Ron thought, _that’s exactly why you’re here. That, and because you need to control the damage done_. He rubbed his hands over his face and tried to quench his next thought. _And you want to kiss those full lips_.  
  
Pansy turned to him, one eyebrow raised. “Oh really?” Her dry remark left him stupefied. “Ron, what do you want?”  
  
“I want to know what you told your friends. We need to have our story straight on Monday. “  
  
“Ha! I knew it. You’re not really interested in doing the right thing, are you? You’re nothing like your reputation leads people to believe. Potter’s hero complex certainly hasn’t rubbed off on you.”  
  
“Hero complex? You’re nuts!” Ron raked his hands through his hair. “Look, Pansy. What is it you want me to say? I’m sorry? Fine. I’m sorry. You know what? I’ve no idea what happened last night. I was drunk. _You_ however, remember. You told me earlier you would’ve stopped me had anything gone further. And then you _stayed_ the night.  
  
“Why did you run off this morning? No, don’t answer that, I’ve a pretty good idea why. What I really don’t understand is why you stayed in the first place. Damnit, you don’t really think I believe your crap from earlier? Too afraid of your friends’ reactions or the office gossip, my arse!”  
  
Ron jumped up and paced back and forth in front of the couch. He turned to her, ready to launch into another bout of reasons why he wanted to know her real intentions when the words got stuck in his throat. Pansy Parkinson, the annoying, vindictive, conniving, better-than-thou bitch of his past looked anything but. She looked vulnerable and it stung him that he had caused it.  
  
If he had learned anything from his parents, especially his dad, it was to respect women. No matter what, he wasn’t someone to cause them pain - on purpose, anyway. The few times he did in the past, he hated himself for doing it. More than he’d be prepared to admit. And now Harry’s words echoed in his head, just to mock him some more, _in vino veritas_. He huffed loudly, and Pansy misinterpreted it.  
  
Her face fell even more. Pansy’s hair hung in loose locks around her features and it surprised him that he was itching to move them away from her eyes. He turned away from her when a sudden stirring in his lower region brought an image of her looking at him while sliding down his body. He inhaled deeply, wondering what the _hell_ was wrong with him.  
  
When he turned back to her he was half expecting her to be gone. She had been so quiet, he wouldn’t have been surprised had she vanished. But she still sat there, her face stony, hugging her arms to herself. Taking another deep breath, he went to sit beside her, conscious to leave a gap big enough not to touch her.  
  
He followed her gaze, looking straight ahead at the fireplace when he spoke next. “Pansy,” his voice was a lot calmer, his tone warmer. “I don’t know what to say.”  
  
“Then don’t,” came her reply in a thick voice.  
  
 _Shite, don’t cry_. There wasn’t much that Ron was scared of just as much as spiders, but a crying woman came pretty close. He’d done his fair share of comforting with Hermione but with her it had been different. He knew her. Here, he was totally lost.  
  
“Before I came here, Harry was laughing at me,” Ron admitted then. “Yet I still came here. I never gave a toss what other people were thinking,” he paused. “Well, not never but I learned not to. Life’s too short to do what others expect of us. We made a mistake and-”  
  
Pansy emitted a soft sniff. _Shite_.  
  
“Pansy? Merlin, please don’t cry,” Ron all but begged her. Pansy blinked rapidly and rubbed her hands over her face.  
  
“’M not crying.” Her muffled voice behind her hands betrayed her words. “Just tired.”  
  
Ron didn’t know whether to admire her pride or roll his eyes at her stubbornness. In the end he saw no alternative but to take matters into his own hands, literally. He turned to her and, as gently as possible, pried her hands away from her face. She turned her head away from him.  
  
“Look at me.” He said those words before he could change his mind. He half wished she wouldn’t. But she did. And when she did, he found a lump picking up residence in his throat. His reaction to her took him by surprise. This was Parkinson, for crying out loud! Fantasizing about her was one thing, but to actually find he cared was a totally different Quaffle game.  
  
Her big blue eyes hypnotised him. He was getting lost in a pool of blue that seemed to draw him in. Her quiet gasp drew his eyes to her lips. Whatever it was he wanted to say to her became forgotten. Pansy’s slightly parted lips glistened when she delicately darted her tongue out to moisten them. He gave in to his most primal desire.  
  
His lips touched hers with a force neither would’ve been able to foresee. The kiss was almost brutal, yet gentle. Ron was still holding her hands as if suspended in an awkward dance, not moving to hold her close. Their tongues danced around each other in hot, wet strokes for only seconds when Ron’s involuntary groan seemed to pull Pansy back to Earth. She pulled her hands free and pushed him away, hard.  
  
Her eyes were flashing now, dark like the sea on a stormy day. “Don’t!” she hissed. “Don’t you _dare_ kiss me. I’m not your toy.” She went over to the fireplace, facing away and quickly and effectively bringing distance between them.  
  
Ron hung his head. “I’m not drunk anymore, Pansy,” he said. “I might not be your Mr Right, but whatever happened last night – you _wanted_ it to happen.”  
  
He walked over to her and tentatively put a hand on her shoulder. She tensed. “Look. I’m not sure why I’m doing this. This is completely mental.” He turned her to face him. With little resistance he uncurled her arms and put his own around her waist. “Completely mental,” he muttered again and then leaned in to place a rather chaste kiss on her closed lips.  
  
He thought it ought to have felt weird, wrong, uncomfortable, awkward, inappropriate or similar. It shocked him to find it felt nothing like that. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Did it feel _right_? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that it felt _good_.  
  
“What are you doing?” she mumbled when he pulled back, her eyes closed.  
  
“Something I never thought I’d do,” he whispered back and leaned in again to slowly move his lips against hers. She gasped when his tongue sought hers. For a long moment, both were lost in this new sensation. This time, she didn’t push him away but rather melted into him. What had started out as an innocent peck had transformed into a heated affair.  
  
“Don’t play with me,” she whispered again when they broke apart, breathless.  
  
“I’m not,” he replied trying to steady his own breathing. After some thought, he added, “It won’t be easy on Monday. Not for a long time. People will find it hard to accept this.” He sought out her eyes again. His heart hammered wildly. “I never – if you’d have told me, even a month ago, that I’d be admitting this… I’d have hexed you into the next century.” He paused to collect himself and when he continued, his slight hesitation was quickly replaced by decisiveness. “Pansy, I think we should go out tonight. Together. On a date.”  
  
“You do?” Pansy breathed out.  
  
In answer, Ron tilted her chin up and kissed her again. It would be difficult to accept. _Hell_ , he himself hadn’t quite grasped it yet. But all those things they could face together and he hadn’t been a Gryffindor for nothing. He’d find the courage to face the ribbing. And before all that, they’d have the weekend to figure out a few things for themselves first.  
  
 _Fin_.


End file.
